


Only Human

by fantasybean



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Post Reichenbach, Reunion, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:06:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasybean/pseuds/fantasybean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The loss of his best friend has broken everything John Watson was. A story of his grief and love for Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John was sat in a room with a doctor opposite him in St Bart’s.

Sherlock was just downstairs, just a few floors away. They were going to take him down to see him soon. Apparently Lestrade, Donavon, Mrs Hudson, Molly and Mycroft would be here soon too.

John felt numb. Completely numb except for one thing. He felt pain all over. It was odd, to feel so numb and empty, yet hurting.

He couldn’t seem to think properly.

He had seen Sherlock fall. He had seen him bleeding over the pavement. He had seen his best friend die. But he couldn’t accept it. Everything and everyone was telling him that Sherlock was dead, but, he just couldn’t even begin to accept or understand it.

“Doctor Watson, you can see the body now. You don’t have to. And I must warn you that he hasn’t been cleaned up yet.” His doctor said.

John didn’t respond he just stood up and let the doctor lead him downstairs.

John hadn’t been aware of it but he had been standing at a door for a few moments. The doctor cleared his throat “Dr Watson, you may go in now.”

John put his hand on the handle and he opened the door.

The doctor stood at the window to keep an eye on John.

John stared at Sherlock’s body.

His consulting Detective still wore his big coat and the blood still stained his pale face.

John felt himself moving forward until he stood beside Sherlock’s bed. He put his hand on Sherlock’s cheek and the grief was too overwhelming and he felt tears streaming down his face.

Lestrade had picked up Mrs Hudson, Donavon and Molly along the way and they met Mycroft outside the hospital.

“What happened?” Lestrade asked Mycroft as they were lead through the hospital.

“Sherlock committed suicide. I hear that Doctor Watson was witness to my brother jumping off this building. My sources also report that Sherlock phoned the doctor before he fell. Doctor Watson is with his body now.” Mycroft said, his face void of emotion.

Mrs Hudson was crying and Molly helped her walk.

They were showed to the door that was shut.

Mycroft opened it and the group were met by a heart breaking sight.

John was facing away from the door and had pulled Sherlock into a hug. The detective’s face could be seen flopped over John’s shoulder and covered in blood. John was rocking him back and forth and sobbing, gut wrenching and heart breaking sobs.

Then the doctor screamed but his voice was muffled by Sherlock’s coat that he had buried his face in.

The group flinched however stayed silent.

Then John started talking.

“Why? Why did you do this for me? We were good? We were, we were, we were good. Please, please explain because I’m not getting this. I don’t believe one word you said. Not one word. I know you, I do, I know you. I know you. Sherlock... please...” John’s sobs took over as he sobbed into his dead best friend’s neck.

Lestrade gently stepped forward and put a hand on John’s shoulder.

John shook him off and held Sherlock closer.

“No... no, leave us alone... leave us... us... I don’t want anyone else. I want Sherlock. I need Sherlock!” John shouted.

“John, you need to calm down.” Mycroft said.

John went silent, except for his heavy breathing, at the last Holmes’ voice. Then he gently, while cradling Sherlock’s head, laid his best friend back onto the table.

Then he turned around after entwining his warm hand with Sherlock’s cold one.

His eyes met Mycroft and then slowly everyone else’s in the room.

They all stared silently and sadly back.

Then John’s eyes met Mycroft’s again.

“I didn’t tell him you were sorry. I was busy listening to his last words. He’s your brother. And you are one of the reasons he’s lying behind me on this table. He told me once, while he was sleep talking, that you were his main carer as a child. He’d have a nightmare or come home, bullied from school, and you’d be there for him. You weren’t there when he really needed you. You told Moriarty everything, everything about him. His life, everything. You see... the thing is... now I see, I see why Sherlock jumped. All he had was me in the end. All we had was us, that was it. But I wasn’t enough. He is such a lonely... lonely man... he’s only human.” John turned back around and ran his free hand through Sherlock’s bloody hair.

“That’s why we fitted. We needed each other. So lonely. But we had each other... was I not enough? What went wrong?... I believe in him... I do, I always, always will... for the rest of my life.” John said, tears running down his cheeks.

Everyone looked on sadly.

“But I don’t want life... not without you, Sherlock... I don’t want this.” John choked out.

Everyone’s attention intensified at John’s proclamation that he didn’t want life.

“I want my best friend back... we were meant to be together...” John chuckled through his tears “...till death do us part... God, they were all right, we’re like an old married couple.” John choked out and laid his head on Sherlock’s chest.

“Please don’t leave me here... please, please... you ignorant, clever, arrogant and beautifully impossible man...” John whispered desperately.

“John... I think we should take you home.” Lestrade suggested gently.

“He is my home!” John shouted and held onto Sherlock tighter.

“Come on, John... come on.” Lestrade bravely stepped forward and wrapped his arms around John.

John held Sherlock tightly and struggled but Lestrade was bigger than John and not as exhausted, so he managed to pull John off of Sherlock. John tried to struggle out of Lestrade’s arms.

“No... no, please, please, No... I can’t leave him... please, Sherlock... Sher!... Please, no...” John shouted out as finally Lestrade pulled John so far away from Sherlock that their fingers flopped at each of their sides.

John’s legs refused to carry his weight so Lestrade had to drag the man out but John kicked his legs.

“John, come on, please John... let him go.” Lestrade said.

“Sherlock! Sherlock, please!” John shouted as he was pulled from the room.

Just before the door closed and with one last burst of energy, John broke free and ran to Sherlock’s side. He kissed Sherlock’s bloody forehead and rested his temple against his best friend’s forehead.

“You’re my best friend and I love you.” John said and kissed Sherlock’s forehead one more time before Lestrade had to drag him out as his legs had given up again.

The rest were forced to leave the room after whispering their goodbyes, as the staff had to clean Sherlock up.

Mrs Hudson, Molly, Donavon and Mycroft walked behind as Lestrade walked backwards down the corridors, his arms around John’s chest, pulling the limp and soulless man along.

John’s face was void of emotion, except he was crying.

They managed to get him in a police car. Mycroft said farewell and Molly left with a small goodbye.

Mrs Hudson sat in the front of the police car, Donavon was driving and John sat next to Lestrade in the back, who was doing a medical check. The police knew a bit about medicals and he checked John’s eyes and did the usual. John just sat there, looking out of the window; he looked completely vacant, like he wasn’t there.

“Sir, we have to go to the Yard. Remember, 221B Baker Street has been shut off, as an evidence scene. I suppose he can go back now. But we took the keys from Mrs Hudson.” Sally said.

Lestrade just nodded.

“I can take him in. Jones has a good amount of medical training. It was best that we left the hospital when we did though. I just need someone to double check he’s okay.” Lestrade said.

They entered the yard. Everyone went quiet when they came to the floor that Sherlock often visited.

Lestrade was helping John walk; he was on shaky legs now. Tears slipped out every now and then and he was incredibly pale.

“Greg, it’s cold. What am I cold?” John said shakily “Sherlock’s warm, do you remember, when I almost got hyperthermia on a case. He had to give me a hug. He’s a warm person.” John added.

“Okay, John.” Lestrade sighed. Lestrade himself felt like crying. Sherlock had been a friend and now he was dead and John was reduced to this, a man not really there anymore, just floating.

“Is he alright?” Anderson asked.

“Shut your mouth, Anderson and don’t say that in such a patronising tone. How do you think he is? He just lost his best friend.” Donavon said, oddly sympathising for the army doctor.

Everyone in the office had stopped working and watched John as Lestrade tried to lead him through the tables and chairs.

John was fine one moment and then he said “I need Sherlock! Take me back to him! Please! Sherlock!” John cried out and Lestrade caught him before he ran out. John struggled and cried.

“Please, I need to go back. I don’t want him to be lonely.” John said.

“John! John, calm down, please, it’s alright, it will be okay.” Lestrade said.

John dropped to the floor and curled up, sobbing broken heartedly. Some of the more sympathetic people in the office teared up at John’s loss and pain.

Lestrade held John as the ex-army doctor cried his heart out.

“It will never be okay! I have nothing! Nothing left!” John said.

“You haven’t lost everything, John.” Sally tried to say.

“He was my everything! I would have committed suicide myself if I hadn’t met him when I did! He is my reason for living! He kept me going day by day, he saved me... we saved each other.” John finished.

“John you have to let him go. He’s gone now.” Lestrade said softly.

“I don’t want to! I don’t want to let him go!” John shouted.

Sally quickly found the keys and returned to Lestrade’s side, who was trying to get John off the floor.

“Jones, I need you to do a medical check.” Lestrade said.

Jones walked forward and put a hand on John’s shaking shoulder. The army doctor was now on his back, crying silently, but looking vacant.

“John? Doctor Watson?” Jones asked gently.

John flinched a little but other than that made no response.

Jones looked up at Lestrade “What is his medical history?”

“Erm... he was shot and Sherlock told me he had a psychosomatic limp when they first met, but it went away when they were together. Erm... he has post traumatic stress disorder. I’ve visited them and John has had a panic attack, but Sherlock deals with them... only Sherlock knew the full extent of John’s health.” Lestrade said sadly. The pair really only did have each other in the world.

“John, what can you hear and see, right now. I want you to be honest.” Jones asked.

John looked at Jones with blood shot eyes. “I see you, Jones, is it?” John said.

“Yes, that’s right, John. And what can you hear?” Jones asked.

“You...” John stopped himself before he said anything else.

“What else can you hear?” Jones asked, gently but pushing.

“He’s on the phone. ‘That’s what people do, isn’t it? Leave a note. Goodbye, John.’” John repeated to the room.

“Goodbye, John.” John said and rolled onto his side, covered his face with his hand and cried.

“Take him home. Someone will need to stay with him. See if you can find out if he has a doctor or a psychiatrist. Other than that, he’s physically okay. Call his psychiatrist or doctor.” Jones advised.

“I’ll stay with him.” Lestrade said and took the keys off of Donavon.

He helped John stand up and guided him back outside again.

He drove to 221B Baker Street and helped John upstairs.

John looked around, and sat in his arm chair.

Lestrade made to sit in the chair opposite him but John shouted “No! That’s Sherlock’s chair!” So Lestrade sat at a desk chair and made some calls to find John’s psychiatrist.

“You’re booked in to see your psychiatrist tomorrow, John. I think you should go to bed.” Lestrade said.

“I’m not tired. Can you leave me, please?” John asked quietly.

“I can’t, you’re not well. You shouldn’t be alone.” Lestrade protested.

“Please, Greg. Mrs Hudson is downstairs. I’m sure she’ll keep an eye on me. I don’t want anyone here. Don’t worry, Lestrade. I’m sure Mycroft has cameras in here anyway, he’ll keep an eye too. Just... leave me alone... please. And I’ll always be lonely, for the rest of my life.” John finished.

Lestrade sighed and lay John’s phone on the arm of John’s chair “Whatever time it is, call me.” He said.

John nodded in consent, just so Lestrade would leave.

Lestrade left and John was alone. He felt so empty and torn up. And that is how Doctor John Watson would feel for three more years. Till his best friend comes back to him. And they made each other whole and human again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The therapist, the will and the blog.

Lestrade came back over in the morning to find John exactly where he left him, staring at Sherlock’s empty chair and sat in his own.

“John? I’m here to take you to see your psychiatrist.” Lestrade said quietly.

“I don’t want to go.” John said.

“Come on. It will be over before you know it. You need this, John.” Lestrade said and put a hand on John’s shoulder.

John sighed and stood up.

“Do you want some breakfast first?” Lestrade asked. Then he noticed that John still had some of Sherlock’s blood on him. When John had held Sherlock he had managed to get the consulting detective’s blood on the left side of his face, on the collar of his shirt and some on his sleeves.

“I’m not hungry.” John said.

“John, you’ve got... blood... on you. Do you want me to give you a few minutes to clean yourself up and change clothes?” Lestrade asked.

John looked in the mirror and nodded.

Within half an hour John was sat in Lestrade’s police car, being driven to his psychiatrist.

“You see, I’ll be looking after you for now. The chief superintendant has suspended me and I thought you would need somebody.” Lestrade told John.

“What? Do I need a carer?” John asked.

Lestrade sighed “I’m just being your friend, John.”

“I don’t want friends. I want Sherlock.” John said and then rested his forehead against the window.

Lestrade took John to the waiting room and sat with him. But it didn’t feel like he was doing much. John was very quiet.

“Doctor Watson?” the receptionist asked.

John stood up and as he walked away Lestrade noticed John limping.

John walked into Ellie’s office and sat in his normal chair.

“John, how are you?” Ellie asked kindly.

“Let’s cut to the chase.” John said “Do you want to hear me say it?”

“It’s been eighteen months since our last appointment.” Ellie said.

“Do you watch the news? And you read the newspapers?” John asked.

“Sometimes.”

“You know why I’m here.” John pushed.

“I’m here becau-“John couldn’t finish what he was going to say.

“What happened, John?” Ellie asked.

“Sher... my best friend, Sherlock Holmes... is dead.” John choked out and a few tears rolled down his cheeks.

Ellie sat back for a few moments. “How did you find out about his death?” Ellie asked.

“I saw him... I saw...” John couldn’t complete his sentence.

“What was he to you, John?” Ellie asked.

“He is... everything. I love him. He was my best friend.” John said.

Ellie tried to find out how John was feeling, but nobody could label what he was feeling.

She advised he started using his cane again to help him walk easier.

“Do you live with anyone?” she asked.

“I live...lived with him. But our landlady is downstairs.” John said.

John left the office quickly.

Lestrade followed him out to the car.

John sat there “What are you waiting for? Start the car already!” John exclaimed.

“John... there’s his will reading.” Lestrade said.

“Now?” John asked.

“You’ve been asked to come.” Lestrade said.

John just nodded and looked back out the window and the pointless world again.

They arrived at Mycroft’s manor where the will would be read.

They came to a room with a table with chairs around it.

Mycroft was there with a solicitor; Mrs Hudson was there with Molly, who must have driven her here.

John sat down and waited for the solicitor to begin.

“This is the will reading of Mister Sherlock Holmes.” The solicitor began.

“To my brother I leave all family heirlooms. To Mrs Hudson I leave five thousand pounds, in hopes she can have a comfortable life.” Mrs Hudson burst into tears but managed to calm down a bit.

“To Molly I leave my microscope, thank you for the help with my experiments, use this for your own.” Molly smiled sadly.

“To DI Lestrade, I leave my notes on cases to help you along the way to solve others.”

“And to my good doctor, John Watson and best friend, I leave everything. I leave you my money; I hope you can continue to live in our home with the help of that money. I leave the rest of my possessions to do with what you want to. And I leave you with this message. Thank you. Whatever way I die, I hope you were unharmed. Thank you for being my first and best friend. Live well my dear John.” The solicitor finished.

John lowered his head and nodded in understanding.

When John got home he requested that Lestrade leave him again. He got out his laptop and opened his blog.

He sat there contemplating what to write. He had so many words, but they wouldn’t do anything justice. So he put the news video on there from this morning, the revelation of Sherlock’s suicide, and he wrote what he needed to. He couldn’t describe the man he knew and loved. He couldn’t put into words how he felt. But he thought that what he wrote was exactly what he needed to say. He disabled the comments; he wasn’t planning on revisiting his blog where he had written his and Sherlock’s life together on. And he logged out.

Lestrade got an email alert saying that John’s blog had been updated. He opened the blog and read the words that he knew came from John’s heart and every word, letter and syllable was meant whole-heartedly.

‘He’s my best friend and I’ll always believe in him.’


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The edge.

It had been a couple of weeks since Sherlock had died. John hadn’t gone out, hardly ate, barely spoke to anyone who popped in to check on him and barely moved. His dreams were once again plagued by nightmares, but not the war, no, Sherlock falling, Sherlock’s note and Sherlock’s body was what he saw in the few hours of sleep he got every night.

Many had shown their concern for the good doctor. Lestrade often came around, sometimes bringing a take-away, but John would just sit on his arm chair while Lestrade sat on the sofa, turning the television on so they weren’t sat in silence. John would push the food around his plate and stare at nothing. Mrs Hudson pretended to clean, but John knew she just wanted to check that John was coping. Molly even came around twice. But none of them could do anything to stop John’s grief and pain. John was nearly an echo of who he once was.

John had one photo on his phone of him and Sherlock. The army Doctor had once dropped his phone at a crime scene and Anderson had found it and nosily unlocked the screen and took a picture of them. It was just the two of them stood together, smiling at each other as they shared a joke. But it meant so much to John. Neither of them had pictures of them together, it was the only one, and it was perfect. John occasionally would stare at the picture for hours, remembering the good times.

But nothing helped. John’s grief still raged on inside him, untameable and ferociously tearing him up, day by day. And John couldn’t take it. He just wanted the pain and the loss and the suffering to end.

He’d been thinking about it so much, Sherlock would have died as soon as he hit the ground, he wouldn’t have been in any pain. It would have been so painless, and flying through the air would have been so freeing. John wanted that. He didn’t want this life, he wanted Sherlock. And Sherlock couldn’t come back to him. So he would go to Sherlock. It would all be fine.

On a Sunday afternoon John showered, shaved, put on some fresh and clean clothes, did up his laces to his shoes and put on his jacket. He was ready. He picked up his cane and quietly left the house for the first time in weeks.

He hailed a taxi and sat quietly in the back after he had given the driver his destination.

“We’re here, Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital.” The taxi driver announced, his gruff voice breaking into John’s deep thoughts.

John paid the man and limped away.

He walked just past the place where Sherlock’s body had landed only a few weeks ago and where his own body would land on this day.

He entered the hospital and remembered what Sherlock had told him once. That if you walk into somewhere and act like you belong there then it is highly likely that nobody will notice you. John headed for the staircase and limped up the many flights of stairs, leaning heavily on the hand rail and his cane. He reached the roof and pushed the door open.

Sun light hit his body and John gave a small smile. It was a perfect day, his favourite type of weather; it was warm and sunny, with a few fluffy clouds overhead.

John took a deep breath and let his cane drop on the roof floor. This is what he wanted and Sherlock was what he needed, this was the only way.

John limped to the edge and stood where Sherlock had stood.

It would be so easy. John didn’t feel scared. He felt peaceful. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please let me go to him.

John closed his eyes and took a slow and calming breath, this was it.

There was a click from behind him as the door opened.

John turned and saw Lestrade, panting heavily, standing in the doorway with a horrified look on his face.

John felt rage bubble through him and he looked down at the ground and saw three police cars below him, Donavon, Dimmock and about six other officers crowding below, staring up at him.

John looked up and felt tears burn in his eyes.

“John.” Lestrade said once he was composed.

“John, I know you’re hurting right now, but this isn’t the way. Please, John, step away from the edge.” Lestrade said.

“No, no, I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of you here.” John moaned and kept his eyes on the blue sky.

“John, you need to listen to me-“John cut him off.

“Leave me alone!” he shouted.

The shout echoed and the crowd below heard the pain filled voice.

“I can’t. I can’t leave you alone. You’re my friend; I will never leave you alone, John. I understand.” Lestrade said.

“You could never understand.” John said heart break radiating from every syllable.

“Sherlock was my friend too.” Lestrade said.

John twisted his upper half so he could look at Lestrade. John’s stormy blue eyes met Lestrade’s brown ones and Lestrade took a small step back at the pain he saw in the soldier’s eyes.

“He was my whole world. You see, Lestrade... when I came back from the war... I wanted to do this. I wanted life to end, to end the suffering and the nightmares, but then I met a man. A mad, rude, arrogant, clever, honest and impossible man and he gave my life meaning again. He was my reason to live, and he was my best friend. My best friend, my Sherlock. Could you imagine how it feels to stand on the ground, just over there, and have to watch him fall? To watch him die. And I feel so empty and meaningless and tortured and that will never end. And my life is worse than before I met him. I have the suffering and the nightmares, but what is worse is that this time I’ve seen how great life can be, and that was with him, and now he’s gone and I have nothing. I need him, Lestrade; I really, really need him. Please let me go to him.” John finished, his voice breaking at the end.

Lestrade felt a shiver run through him at the words “I want nothing more than for you to have him back, John, he was a great man, and your true friend. But I’ve already lost one of you, I can’t lose you both. Think, John, you have so much more to give!” Lestrade said passionately.

“I have nothing left to give. I’m useless without him.” John said, facing away from Lestrade again.

“No, John, you’re not. You’re clever, you’ve saved many lives, and you’re a doctor!” Lestrade stated.

“I’m stupid in comparison to him, I’ve watched many die, and I don’t want to be a doctor without him. I don’t want to do anything without him. I want to die! Lestrade, I want to end this pain! I can’t take it anymore! I’ve thought about this for ages! I’m thinking rationally and if you come one step closer to me I will jump right now.” John said, hearing Lestrade’s light footsteps behind him.

“Well... you know what you want, John. But what would he want? If he was standing where I stand right now, what would he say?” Lestrade asked.

John stood in silence for a few moments “He loved you, John. He may not have said it, but we all knew you loved each other; you had a very special bond. And no-one, nobody can ever take that away from you, John. He loved you. He wouldn’t want this. He’d want you to live, he’d want you to be a good doctor and live a good life. He gave you everything in that will, John! Not so you could just throw it all away, he wanted you to live!” Lestrade urged.

John felt sobs rising in his chest and tears dripping down his cheeks. Like the blood that dripped over Sherlock’s cheeks, however John knew that only one of them would have that rich and deadly colour on their skin after they had stood on this spot in the world. John lifted a hand out behind him and felt Lestrade grab onto it and pull him away from the edge.

John’s legs gave out and he tumbled to the ground.

“Help me, Greg... please, please, help me.” John whispered as Lestrade held the broken man as he cried.

Lestrade used one hand to slip into his pocket and dialled the number he knew would help John. The DI pressed his phone to his ear with one hand and rubbed John’s shaking back with the other. While the dialling tone sounded John’s hands came to grip onto Lestrade’s coat and he started mumbling words like “could do it... Sherlock wouldn’t... maybe.”

John felt like a coward. He couldn’t do it in the end. Sherlock had persuaded him, Lestrade was right, Sherlock wouldn’t have wanted this. And yet again the great Sherlock Holmes chose for him. But John knew he could still do it. He could just push away from Lestrade and run over the edge. But there was no guarantee that Sherlock would be there when it was over. John had always liked the thought that you see the people you love after you die, but there were so many different theories on the afterlife. Was it worth the risk?

“John, we need you. You can’t leave us yet.” Lestrade said in his ear, seemingly reading the distressed man’s mind.

John knew now, maybe he should wait. He should make sure everyone is alright before he ends it. Wouldn’t it be selfish to leave them all just after Sherlock had? They’ve lost one friend, could they handle another without some serious damage being done? John took a deep breath and nodded. He would stay. For now.

Lestrade let out the breath he had been holding since he had seen John standing at the edge.

Finally the man picked up and a “Lestrade?” was heard from the other side of the phone.

“Mycroft, I’ve got him, but we need to get him some help.” Lestrade said.

“I have already sent a car. Well done, Detective Inspector, I really thought he would jump.” Mycroft said.

“Me too. I’m so... never mind me, I’ll see you soon.” Lestrade hung up.

“John?” Lestrade called.

John shakily let go of Lestrade, wiped his eyes and stood up.

Lestrade kept an eye on John and tried to stay within arm’s reach of him as he picked up John’s fallen cane.

He handed it to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Time to go, John. Come on.” Lestrade prompted.

John limped forward and slowly walked back down the stairs.

When they reached the outside John kept his eyes on the pavement and Lestrade saw the police officers and public relieved that the doctor hadn’t jumped.

A black car pulled up beside them and the door swung open smoothly.

John took a step away.

“No. No, I want to go home.” John said, looking with panic at Lestrade.

Another door of the car opened and a tall man, clearly a body guard, stepped out. Lestrade held his hand out to the new man as a gesture for him not to come any closer.

“John, you said so yourself, you need help. Mycroft can get you that help. Please, get in the car, I’ll come with you, I promise, as your friend, I’ve already told you, I’ll be here for you.” Lestrade said.

John shook his head.

“I want to go home. You can’t do this! I don’t need any of your help! And I certainly don’t need Mycroft’s help!” John shouted.

Another security guard slipped out from the other side.

John turned and limped as quickly as he could away. The men caught up to him and one said “Please, Doctor Watson, don’t make us use force.”

John closed his eyes and his grip on his cane was so tight his knuckles were white.

“John?” Lestrade called out.

John re-opened his eyes and stood up straight, like the soldier he was, he limped into the car and sat down, closing the door for himself.

Lestrade sighed in relief and got in on the other side.

The car soon started moving and John just leant his forehead against the tinted glass window.

Lestrade couldn’t stand the silence, so he broke it “I was talking to Molly when Mycroft rang me. He’s a Holmes, so he must have known what you were thinking of doing was a possibility, so he had set up cameras. He said he was informed that you had entered Bart’s and I was the only one closest enough to get you. It’s thanks to him we still have you really.” Lestrade explained.

John didn’t move or even make any recognition that he had heard Lestrade. He knew what the DI had said; he just couldn’t be bothered to care. The only thing he could think about right now was Sherlock.

“Are you not wondering where we are going?” Lestrade asked curiously.

John said nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suicide Watch.

“John, I want you to stay here. We’re going to keep you on suicide watch for a while, do you understand?” Mycroft asked.

John had been taken to Mycroft’s grand house; he sat in a living room on a sofa next to Lestrade and opposite Mycroft.

John didn’t reply, he didn’t want to talk anymore, and especially not to one of the people that gave Moriarty everything. John refused to believe that Moriarty was Richard Brooke, he didn’t know what had happened between Moriarty and Sherlock, he may never know, but he would always believe in Sherlock.

Mycroft moved on quickly “Well, luckily enough I have a room just for you. Sherlock used it as a rehab room after his drug usage got very bad in his late University years.”

John seemed to become more attentive at the mention of his best friend.

“Sherlock’s room?” John asked.

“Yes, John. And you’ll be staying in there. I will supply it with things like books and every day you can come out for a while, maybe we can take a walk on the grounds here or watch some television. But you will have to spend the majority of your time in the room. John?” Mycroft tried to prompt John into saying more.

John looked so tired and he felt it too. He had a strong urge to just lie down because he couldn’t see the point in giving Mycroft the courtesy of sitting up for him. So John slowly lay on his side, his head resting on the arm of the sofa.

“Right, take him to the room.” Mycroft said to the two body guards who had stood at the door.

“Doctor Watson, I suggest you walk yourself, or my men can carry you.” Mycroft said.

John closed his eyes, trying to block everything out. He couldn’t believe he was locked in this house! He wanted 221B; he wanted Sherlock’s stuff around him, the home that they had made together was a slight comfort. But John was glad that he was going to Sherlock’s old room, which was something at least.

The particularly large man picked John up, the soldier was limp.

The man carried him through corridors, followed by Mycroft and Lestrade. They came to a room.

It was plain and rather bare, no windows, a singular bed in the middle. It wasn’t a massive room, but it wasn’t small either. The man laid John on the bed. John rolled onto his stomach and sighed.

This was going to be his life, for as long as Mycroft thought it was best. Maybe it would be good, to get his head around things, but to be honest, John would never be able to think straight or get his head around what his life had now become without his best friend.

“There will be guards outside your room constantly, just knock if you need anything. Take this time to rationalise your thoughts and organise them too. It will get better with time, John.” Mycroft said and walked out.

Lestrade nodded to the security men in a gesture for them to leave.

They left and Lestrade looked at the broken man in the middle of the bed.

“John, I know you may not like this now, but it will all be okay in the end. You just need some space from London and your flat and everything. I’ll visit soon. And as Mycroft said, it will get better soon. You’re not alone.” Lestrade said and walked away when he got no response.

John lay there thinking to himself. Maybe Sherlock was right, maybe alone protects you. When John had been with Sherlock, relied on Sherlock, had someone to love and had someone who made loneliness go away it had felt good. But now it was gone and look at the destruction it had caused. Alone can protect you. You can always rely on yourself, but when you have friends and things to care about it causes nothing but heart break.

John had accepted the fact that he was lonely now, but one thing he could not push away was the grief. It was constant and John was sure that it would never go away.

The saying ‘all wounds heal with time’ popped into John’s mind, but it was quickly pushed away by the other saying ‘some cuts run too deep’. Mycroft and Lestrade were wrong, they had no clue how he was feeling, they had no clue! As far as John was aware, neither of them had lost their whole world, this would not get better with time.

John felt tears coming before he could stop them, he wasn’t ever going to get over Sherlock. Sherlock was his best friend and the most brilliant man John had ever known. He just wanted him back. He could see that pale face and long coat and curly hair clearly in his mind, Sherlock will always be in his memories and his heart, but right at this moment, John felt like it just wasn’t enough. He needed Sherlock.

John had a routine, it was boring and simple. He would be given breakfast and they made him eat at least half of it; he would go for a walk around the grounds, accompanied by Mycroft or body guards, depending on who was available. John detested Mycroft, but at the same time, the man was a connection to Sherlock, and that was a strong comfort. He was given lunch, which yet again he was forced to eat a part of, then he would read or just lie in his room thinking. He would be given dinner, which was forced much like breakfast and lunch and then he would go to bed and return to the land of nightmares. But it was rather hard because it was difficult to differentiate between reality and dreams, he never slept without a nightmare, and when he awoke he was in a living nightmare. He knew the difference though, because in his dreams they were horrific memories of Sherlock’s death and in reality it was the aftermath.

John had thought about escaping over the weeks that he had been here, but there was nothing to escape to. There was nothing on the outside world worth escaping for. Mycroft wouldn’t keep John here forever, as far as everyone else was concerned John was fine, assuming the fact that apart from him being quiet and never happy, he was fine. There had been no more suicide attempts or dangerous escape feats. He was fine, in their eyes. He would be let go soon, and he could return to 221B, but that life wasn’t that much different from this life, in both he had no purpose and no happiness, only a routine.

John wanted his Sherlock back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 221B Baker Street.

John spent a couple of months in Mycroft’s house, he didn’t misbehave, or throw any tantrums, or self harm, of try to commit suicide. John had realised that though Sherlock may have been in the same room as John was now for his rehabilitation from drugs, it had no traces of Sherlock. It didn’t smell like Sherlock, it wasn’t decorated how Sherlock would have had it. It didn’t have anything of Sherlock’s in it. And that was what John needed. He needed a connection to his best friend. 221B Baker Street offered more than just smell and objects; it offered memories, John’s memories, not made up ones of what Sherlock would have done in the bare room, real memories.

John had thought of them as more of a curse than a blessing when he had been hit with a memory every time he walked into a room at Baker Street, but not having any here was even worse. The flash backs of his best friend’s life were a blessing and he wanted to see them clearer. He wanted to be able to sit in his armchair and watch a memory of Sherlock so that he wouldn’t feel so alone and insane.

Being at Mycroft’s house just made him feel distant to everything and he didn’t like it.

Mycroft had been monitoring John and had him talking to a few psychiatrists to see how his mental state was. John was very unresponsive, but from what they could gather he was better than he was.

Mycroft walked into John’s room to find the man lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. John was thinner than before and hadn’t smiled as far as anyone knew.

“John. I’ve come to inform you that you will return to 221B Baker Street today. However there is a condition. You will have people visit you occasionally to check how you are.” Mycroft said.

John was yet again unresponsive.

“John I’m going to need a response.” Mycroft informed the broken man.

John weakly nodded his head.

“We shall leave within the hour.”

John was dropped off outside 221B Baker Street. Mrs Hudson was at Mrs Turner’s and the house was silent. John made his way upstairs, already feeling relieved as he noticed a dent in the banister that Sherlock had made with a pocket knife a long time ago. John unlocked the door and stepped into the flat, he was hit by his and Sherlock’s flat smell. It was a mixture of Sherlock and John and it worked.

John took a deep breath and looked around. Good, they haven’t moved anything, John nodded.

John looked over to Sherlock’s armchair and a memory hit him of Sherlock sat there, explaining a case to John with a look of delight as he explained his deductions to his best friend.

John gave a small smile and sat in his armchair. The memory soon disappeared and left John feeling as lonely as he always felt.

John looked around and sighed, then closed his eyes and settled back into his feeling of loneliness, emptiness and grief.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John needed Sherlock.

John had spent the three years without Sherlock without a purpose in life.

Everyone had moved on. Lestrade was back on the police force after his suspension so he visited John less. Mrs Hudson bumbled around like normal and John only saw Molly very rarely. Mycroft popped in every now and then, still trying to keep an eye on John.

John hadn’t changed though. It hadn’t got better. They had all promised him that it would. But nothing had changed.

John still had constant flashbacks of his friend, he felt numb and empty yet in complete pain all the time. He still refused to eat the normal amount, he still had nightmares every night and the memory of Sherlock falling from Saint Bart’s was still as clear to John as if it had happened yesterday.

John lived off of Sherlock’s money, but he didn’t use much, the consulting detective was rich! John didn’t often leave the house, he didn’t have a job, and he didn’t have a life. He was just an empty shell of who he once was and he was a broken man.

The greatest destruction Sherlock’s suicide had caused was the breakdown of Doctor John Watson. Everything that John had been was gone, nothing but a tired and sad looking broken man was left behind.

Everyone knew that what John needed was Sherlock. Sherlock could fix this. But one other thing that everyone knew was that Sherlock wasn’t there.

John had nothing left to live for. The only thing he had was locked away in his head. Nobody would disrupt his beautiful memories of Sherlock. People had tried to tarnish the memories, telling John that Sherlock was a fake, but John wouldn’t let them. John knew Sherlock Holmes better than anyone else did, and he knew what was right. Sherlock was a great man and his best friend, and no-one could change that. No, nobody could change who Sherlock was to him. Nobody could ever ruin Sherlock for John.

John’s thoughts were much the same as three years ago. He still couldn’t comprehend the death of someone who he had relied on completely to always be there. He had accepted that Sherlock was dead and he wasn’t coming back. John had also accepted that it wasn’t his time to join him. But he still couldn’t understand that his best friend wasn’t with him on this world any more.

Every now and then John would leave the house to visit Sherlock’s gravestone. He never said much. In his final proper speech to Sherlock he had asked the consulting detective to not be dead, it hadn’t worked yet. John could never lose faith in his best friend though.

Some people still feared what John would do; John wasn’t the reliable soldier he had once been. Sherlock had saved him and they had been a formidable team. They had been the making of each other. Everyone knew that they had both been at their best when they had become friends.

John needed Sherlock.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unreal.

John looked at the clock and saw it was six o’clock in the morning, of the second day into his third year without his best friend. John was sat in his arm chair, a comforting spot because he occasionally saw Sherlock bumbling around the flat in his memories when he sat there.

John heard the front door open and wondered for a moment why Mrs Hudson was going out at this time in the morning, but when he heard footsteps on the stairs he realised that it was not someone going out, but coming in.

John sighed, it was probably Mycroft, he did tend to visit at odd and varied times.

The footsteps stopped just outside the door to the living room and John frowned and found that he didn’t care.

The door opened slowly, creaking.

John didn’t look behind him to see the intruder.

“Yes, I’m still alive, Mycroft.” John said with a bored tone.

“John...” A choked out word was spoken by the intruder. And the voice did not belong to Mycroft, but a much more welcome person.

John quickly turned to the doorway to find Sherlock, hair curly, big long coat, pale skin; he found his Sherlock stood in the doorway looking so sad, yet happy, yet sorry.

John was thinking through every day with Sherlock, and he couldn’t remember this ever happening. This look had never crossed his friend’s face.

John felt a spark of hope ignite in his heart but it went away when he remembered that he suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Flashbacks were common and very dominant in John’s mind; he had never experienced his mind giving him the illusion of Sherlock before, though it was possible with his state of mind, maybe he was going even madder.

“You’re not real.” John shut his eyes.

“John.” Sherlock’s voice broke through the barriers John was attempting to put up to shut out the rest of the world.

John opened his eyes and found his best friend still stood there.

He stood up and faced the illusion.

“You’re not real. You can’t touch what isn’t real, Sherlock would say.” John said and walked forward with a hand outstretched. Sherlock watched his every move with curiosity and sadness.

John finally reached Sherlock and laid a hand over the consulting detective’s heart. Not only could he feel the material of his purple shirt, he could feel the thump thump of his heart.

Before John could retract his hand Sherlock had laid his own on top of John’s.

John’s eyes widened and he met Sherlock’s.

“I’m real, John. I’m here now. I never-“John cut him off and drew his hand back as if he was burned and he took three steps away from Sherlock.

“No... No, you’re dead. You’re not real!” John said, almost hysterically.

“John, please remain calm and let me explain.” Sherlock pleaded.

John grabbed his cane which had been rested against his armchair and held it out as a threat for Sherlock not to come any closer.

“Mrs Hudson! Mrs Hudson!” John shouted.

The door downstairs could be heard opening.

“John, dear, are you alright? It is very early.” Mrs Hudson could be heard coming up the stairs.

“Tell me he’s not real! I’m going mad!” John shouted, he wanted someone to prove to him that either his dreams had come true or he was actually insane.

Mrs Hudson, clad in her nightie and dressing gown entered and looked up and stared at Sherlock.

She was silent for a moment and then she screamed and ran, as fast as her bad hip would carry her, downstairs and out the front door and they could hear her shouting “Mrs Turner!” from inside the flat.

John stared with wide eyes at Sherlock.

“I’m not a dream. I’m not a hallucination. You know that you don’t dream without a nightmare, John, I wouldn’t have thought this to be a nightmare. Mrs Hudson saw me; I’m not your hallucination. Please, John, I need you to listen, I need to explain. Could you do that for me? Just let me explain. Then you can do what you want with me.” Sherlock said firmly.

John shakily let the cane drop to the floor.

Sherlock went to give his limping friend a hand but John flinched away and sat in his arm chair and brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on his knees, he felt like crying, but he was so confused and his mind was working so fast that he just frowned, breathed deeply and watched cautiously as Sherlock sat in his arm chair.

John stared at Sherlock and felt his throat closing up and his heart beating loudly in his chest.

“I knew what Moriarty was going to make me do... I figured it out soon enough...” And Sherlock delved into his story of how he managed to pull off such a stunt as jumping off Saint Bart’s and staying alive. John listened closely and stayed quiet.

“And I just want to say that I was always watching you. I may have been breaking down Moriarty’s web, but I had the homeless network checking up on you. And I’m sorry; I didn’t know that my... death would have affected you so much. And I want to thank you for what you wrote on your blog. It meant... a lot.” Sherlock finished and awaited John’s reaction.

John was staring at the ground, taking it all in.

“Come here.” John said quietly.

Sherlock obediently stood up and approached John till he stood in front of him.

John shakily stood up and looked up at Sherlock.

And he brought his hands up and rested then on Sherlock’s chest, then they turned into fists and tears overflowed, a sob escaped his chest and he started continuously beating Sherlock’s chest, frustration, hurt and the built up pain and grief exploding from him.

Sherlock didn’t try to stop John from punching his chest, but when his best friend was sobbing, tears running down his cheeks he drew John into an embrace. John’s beating weakened till his fists released and his hands travelled up till he wrapped his arms around Sherlock in return, crying with relief and love into his consulting detective’s chest.

“I’m sorry, John. I’m so sorry. But it was all for you, I couldn’t lose you, John.” Sherlock said, holding John tightly.

“But I lost you. Never leave me again, please, Sherlock, don’t ever leave me.” John whispered.

“I promise.” Sherlock said honestly.

“Can I say it now?” John asked, sniffling as his tears were stopping slowly.

“Say what, John?” Sherlock asked gently.

“What I never got the chance to say.” John said, tears coming back again.

“Yes.” Sherlock said.

“You’re my best friend, and I love you.” John said.

“You’re my best friend too, John. And I love you too, I never thought I would feel that or say that, but I do, John.” Sherlock replied honestly.

John chuckled through his tears and angled his head up so he could look into Sherlock’s eyes.

“I never thought I’d hear you say anything like that.” John said.

“I find myself... better at conveying my feelings and thoughts around you, John. I do believe with the rest of the world I am still a high-functioning sociopath. You’re an exception, John.” Sherlock said with a small smile.

John finally, after so long, smiled and felt completely content.

“Can I move back in?” Sherlock asked.

“Why would you ask that?” John frowned.

“I am not so good with this social etiquette; I was unsure whether you would have me back after...” Sherlock mumbled.

“There is no social etiquette for us, Sherlock. I realised that within a week of living with you. Just... be yourself. You know me better than everyone. Do you think I want you back?” John asked.

“Yes.” Sherlock said.

John smiled “Good deduction.” John said and drew away from Sherlock’s arms but kept a hand on Sherlock’s arm for reassurance.

“I’m not going to leave.” Sherlock said, deducing John’s clinginess.

“Just... don’t.” John said tiredly.

“John, you look so tired.” Sherlock said and gently pushed him into John’s armchair.

“I-“Sherlock cut him off.

“I know you don’t want to sleep now, just rest. We can build your strength up and we can be back to solving cases in no time.” Sherlock said with a smile.

John smiled “I’d like that.” He said.

Sherlock sat on the arm of his chair and they dove into a conversation, much like they used to do three years ago, it was about everything, what they had both done over their time separated. They listened to each other, paying complete attention as they had not seen the person sat next to them in too long. They didn’t want to look away, and because they were so stubborn, they didn’t.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love you.

Sherlock settled down in his bed. He hadn’t slept in a couple of days so he was a bit tired. After hours of talking to John and spending the day with his best friend John had been persuaded to go to bed. But John’s eyes didn’t leave Sherlock till he was out of the room, he didn’t want to leave him yet, but John truly was tired after an extremely emotionally exhausting day.

They had contacted Mycroft who was sorting out introducing his brother back into the world. He was going to ensure that this time Sherlock and John were going to stay out of the papers and they wouldn’t be hassled by the media. Lestrade and the force had been informed but told not to bother them until Sherlock or John got hold of them themselves. Sherlock knew that wouldn’t be for a few days as he needed to help John get stronger both mentally and physically.

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed in content, he was finally home and back with his army doctor. He drifted off to asleep.

Sherlock’s was startled awake by a loud shout coming from above him, from John’s room. Another yell had Sherlock on his feet and running up the stairs wearing his pyjama trousers and shirt. John’s door was open only a crack, there were grunts and panicked whimpers coming from inside the dark room.

Sherlock opened the door carefully and walked gracefully into John’s bedroom.

John was thrashing around on the bed, the blankets tied around him from John’s twisting and moving. John’s breathing was heavy and ragged.

“No... No... Please... Sher...” John mumbled, only slightly coherently.

John must be dreaming about the fall or something similar. Before it could get worse Sherlock sat down on the edge of the bed and put his hand on John’s cheek.

“John. Wake up, John, it’s only a dream!” Sherlock said.

John’s eyes snapped open and the soldier’s eyes locked with Sherlock’s and he sat up and grabbed onto Sherlock, wrapping his arms around the consulting detective’s chest and resting his ear over Sherlock’s heart.

Sherlock slowly wrapped his arms around John.

“You were falling... Please don’t ever do that again... I love you; I really, really love you, Sherlock.” John said.

“I won’t, I promise. And I know, you’re my best friend, of course you love me.” Sherlock said.

“No, not like that! Not like that anymore. I want you, I want you completely, Sherlock. Not just as a best friend, I need more, I want us to be each other’s, and I want to kiss you and love you and spend the rest of my life with you!” John said, now completely awake.

Sherlock frowned; did John feel the same way then?

“Really?” Sherlock asked.

“I thought you were a genius.” John said and angled his face to look at Sherlock. Sherlock looked back.

“Well then, I suppose now I can tell you what I discovered after being separated from you for so long. John... When I saw you again, I just... Sorry, I’m not good at emotions...” John still listened intently “When I saw you again, I felt as you described. I wanted to kiss you and I wanted you to be mine and me to be yours. I never want to be apart from you, John Watson. I love you.” Sherlock finished and felt so relieved now he had managed to say it out loud.

John sat up a bit more but didn’t let go of Sherlock.

They leaned forward, their eyes flicking between their partner’s mouth and beautiful eyes. And then their lips met in a slow, desperate, passionate and love-filled kiss.

After several moments John smiled into the kiss and felt Sherlock smile in return. Sherlock ran his tongue over John’s bottom lip, seeking entrance which John gladly gave him and they deepened the kiss until Sherlock slowly moved so that John lay on his back with a consulting detective on top of him. They continued to kiss and run their hands over each other’s bodies until Sherlock slowly drew away and looked down at John, whose kiss swollen lips were rather distracting. But Sherlock managed to look into the lovingly stormy blue eyes.

“Are you quite sure?” Sherlock asked.

“I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life, Sherlock.” John replied.

“What are we now?” Sherlock asked.

“What do you want us to be? Boyfriends? Partners?” John suggested.

“Both. John, I’ve never... been with anybody, so I’m sorry if I screw this up sometimes, just know that I love you and that will never change.” Sherlock said.

“I love you too, and that will never change either. I’ve never been with a man, so this is new territory for both of us, I suppose, but newer for you. So don’t worry, let’s just be here for each other. And always be honest, no matter what we’re thinking or feeling, just say it.” John said and Sherlock nodded with a smile “And I will wait for however long until you’re ready before we take the step of becoming lovers.” John added.

“I’d be happy to be your lover right now, John, if you’re ready and you will let me.” Sherlock said truthfully.

“Oh God yes!” John smiled and Sherlock dove back into the kiss.

The next morning John awoke with a very naked consulting detective spooning his equally as naked body. They had both topped and bottomed, luckily it was early on in the night for the first round of love making, and they had slept for a bit after that, then John had woken up and they had gone for another round.

They were completely and utterly in love with each other and they were comfortable with each other. John turned around in Sherlock’s arms and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s, kissing him into awakening.

“Well, can I just say that that was the best wakeup call I have ever had.” Sherlock said over breakfast.

John had managed to eat a lot more; he was gradually getting his appetite back.

“Well, there will be many more.” John smiled.

“I look forward to it.” Sherlock said.

“Would you like to go for a walk today, John?” Sherlock asked, keen to get John’s legs working a lot more and testing out the psychosomatic limp.

“I... erm, I didn’t go out much when you weren’t here... but okay.” John said.

Sherlock smiled at him and an hour later they were walking hand in hand around the streets of London.

“My limp feels better. It’s less painful. You’re fixing me, Sherlock.” John said.

“Slowly but surely.” Sherlock said.

“Slowly but surely is enough for me.” John informed his boyfriend.

After a few moments of a comfortable silence John asked “When would you like to restart doing cases?”

“When you’re ready.” Sherlock said.

“Oh, Sherlock, that isn’t fair on you, who knows how long until I am ready!” John protested.

Sherlock stopped walking and faced John “I want to look after you, John. And I’ve seen you improving already. I’ve spoken to Mycroft about how you were before I came back, and I think you’ve made a massive improvement. You’re limping used to be almost unbearable. Look at you now; you barely rely on that cane in your hand. You used to eat the bare minimum, and you nearly finished your breakfast this morning. For the second part of the night you didn’t have nightmares and you managed to go back to sleep. You’re yet to have any panic attacks or a flashback which is good, but know that I will be there if you do. You’re getting better and we’re only on our second day. You’ll be ready soon, but I just want you to know, that I won’t take a case without you, and it is down to you to tell me when you’re ready.” Sherlock said.

John pulled Sherlock into a hug “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Sherlock said and they set off walking again and returned to 221B Baker Street within fifteen minutes.

They spent the afternoon with John attempting to teach Sherlock the rules of Cluedo and they nearly finished a whole game before Sherlock started to get extremely irritated with how the rules were wrong and how illogical it was. John quickly put the game away before Sherlock could think of involving the pieces or board in an experiment.

They spent their days and nights together, fixing each other and making each other better again. The separation hadn’t wounded John alone, Sherlock had seen a lot in three years of shutting down Moriarty’s web and coming up against some of Moriarty’s most brutal assassins. And sadly, unlike the times before, John hadn’t been there to keep Sherlock reassured that the world had good in it at the time. So John was there when Sherlock awoke from a nightmare and such.

They were fixing each other and getting better.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've got to start living.

John had been improving a lot. His limp went away as Sherlock spent more time with him and the reality that Sherlock was back and wasn’t going away again hit John. John’s appetite was improving and he was putting the weight he had lost back on slowly. His mind was healing too, he had very few flashbacks and they never lasted long and his nightmares were now only a few times a week, Sherlock was always there when he woke up from them.

Sherlock was also getting better, his nightmares became less frequent and John was helping him eat more. Sherlock had eaten the bare minimum when he had been away from John and he was, much like John, going from too skinny, to his original weight. They were both getting so much better.

They had had two weeks together and Lestrade was planning to pop in to see them. Just before he was going to arrive Sherlock and John were in the kitchen eating lunch and John said “I think I’m ready.” Sherlock’s eyes met John’s and he smiled.

“I knew you were going to say that soon. And I agree, let’s see if we can get back to normal life.” Sherlock said.

John snorted “Well, normal for us, you mean.”

Sherlock chuckled and nodded.

The door bell rung and they heard Mrs Hudson answering to Lestrade as they sat down on the sofa, waiting for him.

Lestrade soon was stood in the doorway. He stared at Sherlock for a few moments and then moved forward and sat on John’s arm chair out of habit because John had never allowed him to sit on Sherlock’s.

“Do you know how much I dislike you right now, Sherlock?” Lestrade asked.

“Probably a lot.” Sherlock said.

“This isn’t a joke! I can’t believe you did this to John!” Lestrade said.

“I have been informed of what happened to him during the three years of my absence.” Sherlock said.

“You may have been ‘informed’ of what happened. But I was there! I persuaded him not to jump of St Bart’s. I had to watch him become nothing!” Lestrade shouted.

“Stop it!” John shouted.

“Stop it; I don’t want you two to fight. I am so thankful for what you did for me for three years, Lestrade. Never forget that, and I see you as a true friend. And Sherlock knows what happened in those years. And he’s fixed me. He’s back, Greg, and I just want to get back to normal.” John said.

“You... fixed him?” Lestrade asked Sherlock.

“His limp is better; he doesn’t need his cane much anymore. His appetite has improved immensely, and his mind is getting better.” Sherlock stated.

“Well then... I suppose you’re forgiven then.” Lestrade said.

Sherlock nodded.

“We’d like to start taking cases again, Lestrade.” John said.

“Well of course, we’d be happy for your help. Actually if you want you can come down to the yard now, we have a case that we’re working on now that is a bit tricky.” Lestrade said, standing.

Sherlock and John stood too, put on their coats and shoes and Sherlock reached out and entwined his hand with John’s.

Lestrade raised his eyebrows. “So... are you two together now?” he asked.

“Yes.” Sherlock said.

“Alright then. Do you want to get a cab while I go in the police car?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock and John nodded and they made their way outside.

They arrived at New Scotland Yard and walked in with their hands still holding each other. Lestrade’s team had been called for a meeting about the case. People were all staring at the couple, both in awe at seeing the dead man and also curious about their relationship.

They all entered a room and sat down in their chairs, Sherlock and John stood behind Lestrade, who was stood at the front while the couple leant against the wall. Lestrade was going through what the case was about and they were going to the crime scene again for Sherlock to have a look.

“Is your leg okay?” Sherlock whispered to John, who hadn’t brought his cane.

“It’s fine. No pain at the moment.” John said with a smile.

Sherlock nodded and went back to looking around at the group of people, deducing them all.

When the meeting was over and the officers were walking out Donavon caught up with Sherlock and John and pointing at their linked hands “Are you two together?” she asked.

“Brilliant deduction, Sergeant Donavon.” Sherlock commented. John squeezed his hand in a gesture for Sherlock to be nice.

When they arrived at the crime scene the officers stood around the edge of the room while Sherlock and John walked to the middle, standing near to the body. John hadn’t been around a dead body or blood since Sherlock’s fall, but he thought he’d be alright.

Sherlock let go of John’s hand while everyone watched on in silence, still unsure if they believed if the consulting detective was a fake or not. This would be the decider.

Sherlock danced around the scene like he did so often, deducing silently. Then he stood up and smiled at John.

“Cause of death, my good Doctor?” he asked.

John nodded and knelt next to the bloody body of a middle-aged man.

“I’d say that he was in a lot of pain from the stomach wounds but this blow to his temple would have killed him instantly.” John pointed.

“Yes, a murderer who likes to torture and then kill.” Sherlock’s voice faded out of John’s hearing and he was breathing out of his nose, he had earlier been breathing through his mouth, but he hadn’t been concentrating and now the potent smell of blood invaded John’s senses.

John looked down at the dead man and found the body morphing into something very familiar as it had invaded and haunted his dreams every night for three years.

Sherlock was doing his brilliant deductions, proving to everyone that he was real and a genuine genius when he heard a whimper from behind him and he stopped talking and looked down at John.

John was hunched over and staring at the corpse. Sherlock could see him shaking.

“John?” he called out quietly.

“No... no, Sherlock... no come back...” John said.

Sherlock quickly moved forward and helped John stand and turned him to face away from the body and he put his hands on either side of John’s head.

“Stay with me, John. Stay in the present. Come back from the past. John, can you hear me?” Sherlock rushed out.

John’s eyes shut and he brought his hands up to grip onto Sherlock’s arms.

“Sherlock.” He said.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m not dead, please, John, remember.” Sherlock said gently but firmly.

John’s eyes opened and they met the consulting detective’s. He breathed out a sigh of relief and fell into Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock held John in a comforting embrace.

John slowly drew away but quickly entwined his hand in Sherlock’s and said “I’m fine.”

The crowd of people looked at the doctor in concern and John put up his face of bravery and smiled at them weakly but reassuringly.

“Finish your deductions.” John said to Sherlock.

“We can just go home.” Sherlock offered.

“No, I’ve got to  start living.” John said.

Sherlock looked at him with love and nodded, then continued his deductions. At the end the yard had a good lead and Sherlock hailed a cab and they went home.

Later that night as they curled up on the sofa, watching Doctor Who, John sighed in irritation at his earlier failure.

Sherlock looked down at John, whose head was resting on his shoulder, and said “I don’t think you failed today. You triumphed.”

John looked up at Sherlock with a frown of confusion so Sherlock elaborated.

“You went out for practically the whole day, your limp didn’t return and you did part of your job by telling me the cause of death. And though you may have stumbled into the past for a few moments you quickly came back and you even carried on after. I think this is a leap in the right direction.” Sherlock said.

John smiled and leant up, pressing a kiss to his love’s lips. “Thank you.” He said.

They went back to watching the telly, well, John did. Sherlock was watching John.

“And by the way, your deductions today were brilliant!” John said enthusiastically.

Sherlock smiled at the only person in the world who didn’t think he was a freak for his mind, but thought he was brilliant.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

John and Sherlock lay in their bed facing each other in complete silence, just looking at each other.

Sherlock watched his beautiful lover and felt nothing but pride and love in him. John had been so brave and strong, his partner may have a different opinion but Sherlock had watched John’s progression through the few weeks that they had been together and knew different. John had had many obstacles in his path and he went for every single one with determination. His cane was no longer needed, his nightmares were infrequent and he had gained back the majority of the weight that he had lost. John Watson was back. He was fixed. He had been through so much over three years. And what hadn’t killed him had made him stronger. John was beautiful and brave and funny and caring and amazing and Sherlock’s. He had taught Sherlock that it was okay to feel and to have a heart and that was brilliant. Sherlock knew he could trust John, he had always known that. John was his companion, confidant, and lover but above all and most importantly he was his best friend.

John couldn’t help but look at his gorgeous lover. As he looked into those grey eyes and at that elegant face and lovely dark hair John felt love and hope and happiness. Sherlock was back and so very good. Sherlock had been John’s support through his whole recovery. And John knew Sherlock completely now. He wasn’t just clever and arrogant and eccentric. He was that and so much more, he was enigmatic, beautiful, misunderstood by others, honest, faithful and John’s. Most people did not believe that he had a heart. But John Watson wasn’t most people, not to Sherlock. Sherlock had a heart. His mind was great and his heart was good and John had seen that as Sherlock had loved him. Sherlock was his light in the darkness and had dug John out of the deep and dark hole that the soldier had buried himself in three years ago. Sherlock was everything to John. But what John valued most was that Sherlock was his best friend.

Many people asked so much of Sherlock and John. They had asked John to move on after Sherlock had died. They had asked Sherlock to be caring to all. They had asked the soldier not to cry. They had asked the consulting detective not to be hurtful. They had asked them not to be themselves, the impossible.

But the two people in the world who had never asked for anything got the best. Sherlock and John had never asked anything of each other. They had only wanted each other to be themselves. Though John still got exasperated and irritated by Sherlock and Sherlock still got annoyed and confused by John that was fine because that was them. They knew each other and they loved each other. Their differences were what made them fit. Sherlock was John’s head and John was Sherlock’s heart. They were like two pieces of a puzzle, like two sides of the same coin.

John brought his hand up to Sherlock’s which lay between them and he entwined them together. Sherlock smiled and they leant forward together, meeting in a loving kiss. John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s soft curls with his free hand and Sherlock’s free hand wound around John’s waist, pulling him closer. Though Sherlock hadn’t had any romantic partners before John and John hadn’t had any male partners before Sherlock they both went so beautifully together. They loved kissing each other. They adored holding each other. And of course they loved the sex, boy was that good and a truly great way to end the day... or start the day... or sometimes do just after lunch... pretty much any hour of the day was a brilliant way to spend having sex.  John could already feel Sherlock’s hand travelling towards his bum and he chuckled into the kiss.

“You have a great bum, John.” Sherlock said between kisses.

John laughed and continued to kiss and say in between each kiss “So is yours.” And to emphasize his point he untangled his fingers from Sherlock’s hair and quickly brought it down to Sherlock’s bum.

They just loved loving each other and spending every day in each other’s presence.

John smiled into the kiss and felt Sherlock do the same. They pulled away and were now so close that they could feel each other’s breath against their lips and could only see each other’s eyes.

“It’s all better now.” Sherlock said.

“It’s all fine.” John confirmed.

After a few more kisses John pulled away and said “I love you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled and said with complete honesty “I love you too, John.”

John pecked Sherlock on the lips and said “Thank you.”

Sherlock didn’t need to ask what for; he knew what John had thanked him for, for bringing him his life back.

“You don’t need to thank me, John.” Sherlock said.

John nodded, smiled and kissed the man who wasn’t a freak, who wasn’t loveless and who wasn’t heartless, who was only human and who John loved.

**Fantasybean x**


End file.
